


Breakthrough

by Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge



Series: Sam and Jack (AKA: the Jam Fam) [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (Dean is also there but he's not as prominent), 14.19 Alternate Ending, And because he KNEW that plan was a bad one!, Because Sam loves Jack darn it!, Gen, Jam Fam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 13:05:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18692062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge/pseuds/Vegetableswillhavetheirrevenge
Summary: Castiel manages to get through to Sam.





	Breakthrough

**Author's Note:**

> So I've almost finished my catch-up. Before moving on to the finale, though, I just *had* to write *something* to help me work through some of my anger over 14.19. Don't get me wrong- it was an effective episode in certain ways. It's just that THAT CONCLUSION WAS 100% AVOIDABLE AND THE WINCHESTERS SHOULD KNOW BY NOW THAT LYING AND MANIPULATION ARE NEVER THE RIGHT WAY TO GO IN SITUATIONS LIKE THESE!!! (I blame it on them being emotionally compromised. Never a great time to make big decisions.)  
> So... yeah. I literally just wrote this in one go and then checked over it once, so I have no idea how I'll feel about it later, but I needed to do *something,* you know?
> 
> Also? I am 100% still not convinced that Jack's soul is *fully* gone. Not with some of the reactions he had.

“He’s in the Ma’lak Box.”

“… No.”

“And that’s where he’s gonna stay.”

The words stung. The image of Jack- alone and scared and desperate for understanding and acceptance- in that… that _coffin_ flashed through Sam’s mind, and he flinched, forcing himself to look up for long enough to witness the full depth of the accusation in the stare Castiel had levelled his way.

He couldn’t. Couldn’t meet that betrayal for longer than a moment. His eyes ( _coward!_ ) dropped back down instantly.

_What if Jack’s eyes held that same expression?_

The room was silent, bar the faint sounds of Dean downing the rest of his glass. One second passed.

Two.

Three.

Vision still filled solely with the wooden grain of the table before him, Sam _sensed_ rather than saw it when Castiel took a purposeful step forward.

“ _No_.”

“Cas-”

“I’m not asking you, Dean. I’m telling you. _No._ ”

Another step, and Dean was rising to his feet. Before Sam could even _begin_ to raise his head, however, Dean was already out of his chair and halfway across the room, his rebuttal trailing back over the familiar sound of liquid being poured. “And I’m telling _you_ , Cas, _we didn’t have a choice_.”

Sam’s fist clenched where it lay, tightening with such force that, had this world been one which buckled to his will, the table would have cracked under the pressure. ( _If the world were one which buckled to his will, they wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place!_ )

The gesture must have caught Castiel’s eye, as well, because the next word out of his mouth was a firm, insistent, “ _Sam_.”

He dragged the fist closer, shoulders hunching in even as his nails threatened to tear bloody wounds into his palms.

“ _Sam!_ You _know_ this isn’t the right way to-”

“We didn’t have a -!”

“I’m not talking to you, Dean!”

Suddenly the seat across from Sam was occupied once more. He could feel Castiel’s eyes upon him- could feel their burning accusation scorching its way into his skin, and he didn’t-

He couldn’t-

“Jack was ma _nipulated_ , Sam. All he wants is for you to forgive him. _This isn’t the way to-_ ”

“That’s enough!”

The thus far quiet conversation suddenly raged into life above Sam’s head, bitter barbs and accusations being thrown and parried with a ferocity this bunker hadn’t seen in… in _ever_ , maybe. Sam himself barely even heard it, however. He just-

 _He didn’t know what to do_.

His heart was torn. Screaming at him like it had ever since this plan had first slithered its way out of Dean’s mouth and into his ears. If he listened to it alone, he would be out of this chair in an instant, rushing down the hall to tear open that box and just _talk_ to Jack about everything which had happened but-

But.

But he was too soft. His heart- _his_ judgement- when had it ever led to anything but worse and worse outcomes? Without his heart, Michael would never have killed so many of those Sam had sworn to protect. Without his heart, Nick would never have been alive to try to bring Lucifer back in the first place. Without his heart, their _Mom would be alive right now_. Every decision he made himself- _every choice he made against Dean’s better judgement_ \- all they ever did was lead to more and more death.

And yet.

Jack was in there now.

Alone.

Just like Sam had been so many times.

And he _didn’t know what to do_.

 _“soul” “choice” “manipulated” “help him” “killed”_ One after another, harsh tones and furious phrases filtered through the haze of indecision which pressed in around him, pushing him further and further into himself.

Of everyone here, Sam _knew_ what it was like to live without a soul. He understood intimately the raw, empty sensation of pure _nothingness_ which pulsed inside you, grasping pathetically for hints of how to regain some kind of understanding of the joy and sorrow and fear and light which had once been such an inextricable part of who you were.

He knew, too, just how easily split-second, instinctive reactions could lead to devastation.

He had more experience, perhaps, than anyone to ever walk the earth, of just how much damage could be wrought by even the best of intentions. Not to mention of how that damage twisted its way inside you, poisoning your thoughts and driving you to more and more desperate acts as you fought for even the tiniest glimmer of redemption.

Of forgiveness.

He knew how it felt to be rejected.

He knew how it felt to be abandoned to despair.

Jack’s face flashed across his mind once more. That instant he had sunk down into that thrice-accursed coffin. The trust in his eyes. The faint, uncertain “Sam?” which had followed them out of the room.

Soulless or not- dangerous or not- this didn’t feel _right_.

“Sam!”

Castiel’s voice tore through the haze, and Sam lifted his head at last. The angel had decided to simply ignore Dean altogether, it seemed. Oblivious to the fury which was now directed his way as Dean stormed across the room, Castiel sent a single, certain sentence Sam’s way.

“You _know_ this isn’t the way to do this.”

And, god help him, but Sam couldn’t deny the truth in that statement any longer.

In an instant, all arguments one way or the other were meaningless. Before he even knew what he was doing, Sam was out of the room and down the hall, Dean’s voice echoing after him. If Sam had been more aware, he likely would have realised that the lack of slamming footsteps following meant that Castiel was probably holding his brother back. As it was, though, the only thing in his mind was Jack.

Thoughts otherwise completely blank, Sam tore through the empty hallways. By the time he flew through the door to his destination- fingers and left arm (and probably doorway, considering the force with which he’d grabbed at it) alike screaming out over their role in abruptly changing the direction of his headlong pace- his chest was heaving, breaths coming out in short, ragged bursts. He hit the coffin with an echoing _thud_ , the force of it driving out all but the very last remnants of whatever air remained in his lungs, and he had to fight against the sudden urge to retch as shaking fingers fumbled uselessly against the first of the waiting locks.

“Sam?”

He couldn’t speak- had no air to, and wouldn’t know the words even if he _had_ \- but, nonetheless, the uncertainty in that word was enough to give his body the focus it needed for the shake in his hands to still just long enough for him to release all three locks and throw the lid wide open. Then, the metallic clanging resounding through the air, he collapsed to his knees- head bowed, hands clenched against the cold, unforgiving rim, and energy utterly spent.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.”

It wasn’t until several seconds later, when the shuddering gulps of new air had begun to calm the heaving agony in his chest (while also making him painfully aware of the sharp aches now plaguing his stomach and limbs alike) that he realised the words had come from him. Raising his head to take in Jack’s startled stare, he startled as the younger man’s hand reached forward, a single thumb swiping hesitantly across Sam’s cheek and coming away wet.

“You’re crying,” Jack murmured, somewhat redundantly.

A rushed exhale burst from Sam’s lips. “Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Yeah, I guess I am.” Gathering his fortitude, he shuffled forward slightly on his knees, resting his forehead momentarily against the coffin before forcing himself to his feet and wiping furiously at his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

Wide eyes met his. “You let me out.”

“Cas- Castiel convinced me to.”

The eyes hardened slightly. “You didn’t want to?”

“No I-” _Deep breath. Calm down. Just be honest._ “I did. I just… I was confused, Jack. A _lot_ has happened lately, and we didn’t- _I_ didn’t- know how to deal with it. To deal with _you_.”

That earnest expression was back. “Mary, she- it really _was_ an accident, you know?”

Pain lanced through Sam’s chest once again and, despite himself, he couldn’t prevent the full-body flinch which followed. That- that was going to take a fair bit to time to adjust to. To come to grips with.

But, some far-distant corner of his brain reminded him- at least what Jack had done truly _had_ been an accident. He’d even done as much as he could to fix it. _Sam_ , on the other hand, Sam had one hundred percent _intended_ it when he had tried to kill Bobby.

Opening his eyes ( _when had he closed them?_ ), Sam nodded, mouth and fingers twitching under the sudden rush of self-disgust which flooded through him ( _God, how much of a hypocrite_ was _he???_ ). “I know.”

Jack blinked at him once, before looking down to scan the full length of the box he was still seated in. Then, shoulders squaring, his head came up once more.

“What happens now?”

Sam’s fingers flexed against the rough material of his jeans, an uncertain future spanning before his eyes. _How were they supposed to move on from here?_

“I… I don’t know.”

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Things still aren't perfect. There's still a hell of a lot for them to work through in this situation. But... yeah.
> 
> Thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a kudos/comment if you so please. ^_^


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